


Their Prodigal Daughter Comes Home

by essexmermaid



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Domestic Violence, Endeavour Morse Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Joan Thursday Tells All, Miscarriage, Parental Fred Thursday, Protective Fred Thursday, ThursDAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essexmermaid/pseuds/essexmermaid
Summary: Joan Thursday is determined to tell her parents what happened after she left home, even if it hurts them to hear it and hurts her to tell them.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse & Fred Thursday, Endeavour Morse & Joan Thursday, Fred Thursday & Joan Thursday, Fred Thursday/Win Thursday
Comments: 20
Kudos: 27





	1. Joan Warns Morse

“But why do you have to tell them?” argued Morse. “You’ll break their hearts!”  
Joan shook her head. She was determined to go through with this, he could see.  
“I need to explain what happened,” she insisted yet again. They had been round and round this same argument so many times this evening without being able to agree.  
“They just won’t understand!” he objected.  
“Dad will,” she countered.

Morse let out a deep sigh, giving himself time to consider this. Of course her father, who was also Morse’s boss, Detective Chief Inspector Thursday, would recognise what she intended to tell him, an oft repeated tale of woe that he’d heard too many times during his long career as a copper. It was a typical story of a young, naïve girl taken advantage of by an older, married lover. But Morse’s own heart ached because he realised it would break the Old Man’s heart to know that the girl in question this time was none other than his own beloved daughter.

Morse leaned in closer to Joan. The two of them were sitting miserably in his flat, her on the sofa, him in the armchair. Joan had turned up unannounced wanting to warn Morse of her plans to tell her parents what had happened to her during the long months she had disappeared from their lives. He was trying hard to dissuade her, to protect both her and her parents from unnecessary anguish.

“Please, Joan, don’t do this. There’s no going back once you’ve told them.”  
“I can’t carry on like this, not talking to Dad. And Mum wondering what’s gone on between us. I don’t think he’s even told her that he came to find me.”

Morse was painfully aware that Thursday already knew some of Joan’s story. After she left home, Thursday had tracked down his missing daughter, eventually finding her to be a kept woman living in her fancy man’s flat. Thursday had been disgusted, not merely at her lack of judgement, but at his own failure to protect his darling daughter from the evils of this sordid world. Thursday’s shame had boiled over into anger, and, frustrated at being unable to persuade her to return safely home with him, he had barely been able to speak to Joan ever since. 

“Surely he knows enough, doesn’t he? And Mrs Thursday doesn’t need to know, it’ll hurt her so much,” Morse tried again, more urgently. His heart went out to her poor mother, who would suffer terribly when she heard Joan’s full and dreadful explanation.

“I need to tell him, tell them both, what happened. We can’t go on keeping secrets like this.”  
“You can’t, you mean!” retorted Morse angrily.

Joan’s head snapped up. Her eyes blazed as she stared him down. Ashamed of how he’d reacted, Morse dropped his gaze. He was meant to be trying to help her wasn’t he, not make it more difficult for her.

“Look Morse,” she said bitterly, “you don’t need to worry. I’ll explain that you were trying to help me. I’m not trying to get you into trouble with Dad.”

Morse winced. There was some truth in this accusation. Morse had discovered Joan’s hiding place before her father had done, but had kept her secret to himself. His silence had seriously disappointed his governor. Their mutual failure to protect the young woman they both loved had put severe strain on their own relationship as Chief Inspector and his bagman. And Morse squirmed to think how Thursday would despise him even more once he learned that Morse had stood mutely by whilst Joan remained in an abusive relationship, ending up sedated and unconscious in hospital.

“You don’t need to lie on my behalf,” he muttered. “I let you down, I know that. Better that he knows it too. He already distrusts me for keeping your secrets from him.”  
“Oh Morse!” she sighed in exasperation. “You were the only one who stood by me. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had you to turn to.”

Morse grasped at the crumbs of comfort she offered.  
“I…I should have done more,” he whispered contritely. “Oh Joan, I’m so sorry.”

She reached out to catch hold of his hand. Surprised, Morse raised a faint smile in her direction. He squeezed her fingers gently and sighed in resignation. As ever, he had to give in to her demands.

“I suppose it’s your life,” he allowed. “You have to do whatever you think best. They’re your parents after all.”

There was still a slight resentment in his voice. He was well aware that his protective governor and Mrs Thursday had treated him like a son, showing him real kindness whenever they could. He was desperately thinking how he could protect them from this impending bitter blow.

“I’ll talk to them on Saturday,” Joan confirmed. “I’m going round for tea. That way there will be no more secrets, no more lies between us. I just wanted to let you know first. Dad will be mad at me, but he’ll take it out on you too. And I’m sorry about that, Morse.”

Morse could only nod unhappily. Thursday’s anger at him was not to be unexpected, however he was more concerned that the Old Man would give his own daughter a tough time too. This conversation would not go well for Joan or for her parents, he feared. It would break her parents’ hearts to hear about Joan’s downfall from her own lips. 

But maybe there was another, less agonising, way to break the news to them. And if he were brave enough to tackle his angry governor then Morse might be able to shelter the Thursdays a little. Morse resolved to do what he could for them despite the consequences for him. He owed it to the Thursdays to try.


	2. Morse Protects Joan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mention here of Joan’s miscarriage and hospitalisation as well as abusive domestic relationship

Morse simply could not countenance letting Thursday suffer by hearing his daughter’s pitiful tale from Joan herself. He had to warn the Old Man before Joan confronted her parents on Sunday. Her father did not yet know that Joan had turned up in Oxford with a black eye and sought help from Morse instead of going home to her own father. Nor did Thursday know that Joan had suffered a miscarriage and that Morse had been at her bedside without telling a soul of her condition. 

Morse knew Joan was determined to tell her parents the whole sorry story. It would only hurt them. And in their pain, they, or her father at least, would lash out in anger and hurt her too. Morse could not let that happen. He’d tried to protect Joan with his silence after she left home, but now, for the same reason, he had to speak out.

“Drink?” asked Morse, finally screwing up his courage to ask.  
His boss, Detective Chief Inspector Thursday, looked up in surprise.  
“Friday night, Morse! Haven’t you someone to go home to?” teased Thursday.  
Morse shrugged, embarrassed, and shook his head.  
“No.” he answered bluntly, resisting further explanation. “And there’s something I’d like your thoughts on.”

Thursday looked at him curiously, with a questioning gaze that made Morse squirm a little.  
“Alright,” huffed his governor after a pause to consider what secrets his bagman might wish to discuss. “Give me half an hour to finish up here.”

Morse nodded, pleased to have snared his Inspector and at the same time terrified of what he would have to reveal to the man. Morse was determined to be brave, for Joan’s sake and for Thursday’s.

Later that evening, sitting companionably in Morse’s flat, he poured the Inspector a large glass of whiskey.

“What’s on your mind then, Morse?” asked Thursday amiably.  
“Err, it’s a delicate subject, sir.”  
Thursday raised an eyebrow. He was used to his bagman being obtuse and simply waited for Morse to begin in his own good time.

“It’s about Miss Thursday, sir,” began Morse hesitantly.  
“Joan? What about her? She’s alright isn’t she?” demanded her father, bristling at the mention of her name.  
“Yes, yes,” Morse hurried on, hands outspread to try to calm him, “it’s just that she’s got something to tell you when she calls round for tea tomorrow.”  
“Tea?” repeated Thursday warily, his hackles rising. “Who told you she’s coming round for tea?”  
“She did,” Morse replied, dropping the Sir in his rush to explain. “Miss Thursday spoke to me earlier this week and said she was going to tell you…”  
“Tell me what?” Thursday snapped, thoroughly alarmed now.  
“Err…that she came back to Oxford. She left him for a while and came here to ask me for help.”

Thursday took immediate offence that his daughter had gone to Morse for help rather than come home. It inflamed his sense of shame to hear that Joan had needed help, but had not wanted to come to him, her own father. He’d do anything for her, anything, but she didn’t trust him, or need him, or want him and that hurt him to the bottom of his soul. That his own daughter had cut him out of her life this past year made Fred Thursday feel less of a father, and less of a man.

“What happened?” he demanded, getting angry.

“She had a black eye. I gave her some money. She went back to him.” Morse was too ashamed to mention that he’d offered to marry Joan to try to get her to stay, but she wouldn’t take his pity. He hadn’t been able to save her from further abuse and had deeply regretted his failure ever since. 

Thursday’s blood boiled at the mention of the fancy man she’d been shacked up with and he took out his anger on Morse.

“You let her go? Back to that..that little shit…?” he cried. 

Morse hung his head in shame. There was worse to come.

Without looking at Thursday, Morse reluctantly continued.

“Several weeks later she ended up here in Oxford, in hospital.”

Thursday nearly choked with rage, assuming that Joan had been beaten again by the same man.

“I’ll kill him! I’ll kill the little fucker!” snarled Thursday, getting to his feet.

“She’d lost a child,” finished Morse bravely. He looked up apologetically and saw his guvernor’s face fall on hearing this last awful blow. But Thursday was quicker than Morse had anticipated and for a big man he moved extraordinarily fast. Thursday shot out a long arm and grabbed Morse about the throat, hauling him to his feet.

“What did you say?” snarled her enraged father. He was choking Morse so hard that it was difficult to reply.  
“She’d lost a child,” gurgled Morse.

Thursday held Morse at arm’s length and slowly, deliberately drew back his other arm. His punch was so hard that it knocked Morse off his feet and he went down with a dull thud.

There was a moment of awful silence before Morse’s ears began to ring. He lay on the floor, stunned by the blow.

Thursday looked down in shock at his felled bagman. He hadn’t meant to hit Morse so hard, he just had to shut him up. He couldn’t take any more, hearing what had befallen his daughter. And Thursday had made the connection between his own visit to Joan when he beat up her lover in a rage of righteous fatherly indignation. That beating had subsequently been turned back onto his own child in revenge. The black eye, the spell in hospital, it had all been provoked by Thursday interfering in the life Joan had chosen for herself.

“Oh no! Oh no! It’s all my fault.” whispered Thursday suddenly aghast at his own part in Joan’s troubles. 

Contritely he got to his knees beside Morse. The lad’s hands fluttered weakly in a feeble attempt to ward off further blows but Thursday brushed them aside and gathered up Morse into a sitting position.

Thursday had his arms around Morse and was looking carefully into his face. Morse took a minute to come round, awkwardly lying in the big copper’s embrace. A firm hand patted Morse’s cheek to get his attention.

“Look at me, lad, look at me,” urged Thursday softly.  
Morse’s baby blue eyes widened in surprise at the gentle tone of voice. He turned his gaze to look into Thursday’s troubled face. Thursday’s heart lurched at the look of pure innocence in the young man’s eyes.  
“Sorry, lad, sorry. You’d provoke a Saint, I swear!” muttered Thursday by way of an apology. “Let’s get you on your feet.”

There was an unseemly struggle while Thursday hauled a groggy Morse back into the armchair followed by a strained silence as Thursday poured them both another drink.

“You’d better start at the start,” said Thursday, preparing himself for the horrors he had no wish to listen to. He was subdued now, shocked at his own outburst and fearful of what he was about to hear.

And so, carefully and slowly, Morse told Thursday all he knew about Joan’s time after she’d left home. And then he sat mortified, while he waited for Thursday to compose himself after weeping for his poor troubled daughter.

Morse sighed. It had gone to plan to tell Thursday what had happened to her before Joan had a chance to tell her parents herself. Morse had wanted to protect Joan from her father’s anger and to stop her father from making things worse. He hadn’t anticipated Thursday punching him but had drawn her father’s anger as he’d hoped. If only this outburst would prevent Thursday from unleashing his temper on his own daughter, then Morse considered that the punch in the face might just had been worthwhile.


	3. Fred Tells Win

“Home!” called out Fred as he hung up his hat and coat. Never had he been so reluctant to greet his wife.  
“Oh, love, dinner’s not quite ready yet,” said his wife appearing at the door of the kitchen, pleased to see him.  
But Fred’s heart sank knowing that what he had to tell her would break her heart.

He avoided Win’s embrace and stepped aside into the front room to pour himself a whiskey.

“Fred, love, what is it, what’s happened?” she asked, her copper’s wife’s instincts realising there was bad news on the way.

Fred downed his drink then turned to face her. He took a long look at his wife, mother to the daughter who had torn at their hearts, knowing he could not put off telling her about Joan. He had to tell Win before Joan herself told them the next day. Surely this would be less painful, to hear it from him first, but it seemed so cruel to hurt his wife so deliberately. He braced himself for the most difficult and hurtful conversation of his life.

“Sit down, love, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Obediently Win sat down, worried, but trusting her husband to explain himself.

Keeping his temper under control, Fred told his wife all that she was bound to hear from Joan as gently as he could. He held her hand as he apologised for not telling her that he’d been to Joan’s flat when Win had been sick with worry over their missing daughter. He took Win’s outrage to heart as he blamed himself for his daughter appearing at Morse’s with a black eye. Fred shifted all his annoyance at Morse keeping secrets onto his own shoulders. He insisted that Joan had gone to Morse for help rather than come home because she could not face her own father. He blamed himself over and over until he came at last to the worst of it.

“She’d lost a child, they said, when Morse got to the hospital. They thought he was the father so they let him see her.”

At this Win broke down completely, letting out a high wail of pure anguish. The thought of her baby girl lying alone in hospital while they knew nothing of it seemed the lowest blow a mother could endure. Sobbing into her husband’s arms, her anger and confusion grew while she cried her eyes out. 

After a while she gathered herself and pushed back from Fred’s protective embrace.

“You should’ve told me you’d seen her!” Win cried, suddenly beyond tears. 

She lashed out at her husband who at first put up his arms to defend himself against the stinging blows then wrapped her up in a tight embrace to stop her from hitting him again. They clung to each other in their shared grief, both weeping and tormented at their combined failure to help their daughter when she most needed them.

“I’ve told you everything now,” Fred tried to console his wife.  
“How can I believe you when you’ve keep so many secrets from me?” Win berated him.  
Cut to the very heart, poor Fred replied simply,  
“Because I can’t cope with this by myself anymore.”  
Win looked at his tear streaked face and understood. Here at last they stood together, putting their daughter before everything else.

“You’ve told me everything now? Promise me!” she insisted.  
“Yes,” he replied. “Everything I found out and whatever Morse told me.”  
“And there’ll be no more secrets between us?”  
“Promise!” said Fred, humbled by his wife’s strength in dealing with so much anguish.  
“Then we’ll face it together, whatever she has to tell us.” Win concluded and Fred could only agree.

Fred was torn to shreds at having inflicted such pain on his darling wife and at having to endure the shame and horror of going through Joan’s story all over again. At the back of his mind he was grateful to Morse for having told him first and giving him the chance to prepare his wife for the dreadful news. To have heard this out of the blue from Joan herself would have been unendurable for both of them.

Fred recognised too, that Morse had cleverly directed Fred’s anger at himself to protect Joan. Fred knew that somehow he would have to keep his temper under control when they faced Joan so as not to frighten her. He understood that Morse was not only protecting Joan in this way, but protecting Fred too, and he was grateful to his young Constable.

What hurt most of all was that Fred blamed himself for making things worse for Joan.

Now Morse had given Fred a chance to make amends to his daughter, to apologise for interfering, for failing to rescue her from an intolerable situation. Fred’s dearest wish was to support both Win and Joan through an inevitably traumatic confrontation. He held onto a slim hope, too, that he might start to win back his daughter’s trust in him.


	4. Joan Confronts Her Parents

Joan arrived early on Saturday afternoon, nervous but determined to tell her parents everything. She had to clear the air between them, especially with her Dad.

And so she launched into her explanation as soon as they had all sat down in the lounge. Her Dad put his arm around her Mum’s shoulders and they held hands, clinging together for comfort while they heard her out. By the time Joan had finished, both her parents were crying. Her mother wept silently on her husband’s shoulder while he wiped at his eyes with his handkerchief.

Joan herself felt strangely relieved that she’d managed to tell them everything without her Dad throwing a massive fit. She had been afraid he would get angry but was surprised that he’d listened quietly without losing his temper. That alone had made it so much easier for her to get through such a difficult conversation.

Deeply regretting having hurt them, Joan realised with a jolt that her parents suddenly looked much older to her eyes. Now she wanted to comfort them both, to reassure them that she was going to be alright. 

Joan reached out for her mother’s hands, held tightly in her father’s.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” she sniffed unhappily. “I never meant to hurt you. I just had to get away.”  
“I know, love, I know,” her mother offered.

Exhausted by the emotion, all three sighed and sat back in silence for a long while. Eventually her mother disentangled herself and with deliberate emphasis asked her husband to fetch her a glass of water.

Obediently, he made himself scarce in the kitchen so that mother and daughter could talk together.

Her mother stared down at Joan’s hand held in hers, distracted for a moment that her daughter’s slender fingers so resembled her own.

“And what about the future, love?” she asked gently. “Will you still be able to have children?”  
Joan was caught by surprise by the question.  
“Yes, yes,” she insisted. “The doctor said there was no lasting harm done, that I would recover fully once I’d had some rest.”

Both heard the loud sigh of relief from the kitchen where her father could hear every word.

Joan frowned for a moment.

“You’ve discussed this? My having children?” she accused her mother. “Then you must have already known about me being in hospital.”  
“Yes, we knew,” her father answered, appearing at the doorway. He should not have been surprised that his daughter was so quick on the uptake.

“Morse!” snapped Joan. “It could only have been Morse. He’s the only one who knew.”  
“Yes, love, he told me. Only yesterday.”  
“I thought he could keep a secret!” she continued angrily.  
“Now then, love,” her father sighed wearily. “Don’t take it out on Morse. They weren’t his secrets to keep.”  
Joan huffed her disapproval at Morse’s betrayal, so her father sat down by his wife and tried to explain.

“Morse only told me because he was trying to protect you. He only wanted what’s best for you.”  
“And how was spilling my secrets meant to protect me?” demanded Joan.

“He knew I’d lose my temper with you. So I lost it with him instead.” her father confessed miserably.

Joan looked in astonishment from her mother to her father.

“What happened?” she asked more gently.  
“Morse told me yesterday so I had time to warn your mother.”  
“I get that,” Joan prompted. “But what happened with Morse?”  
“I thumped him,” came the ashamed reply. “He knew I’d lose it. He did it to protect you.”  
“Protect me from what?” she asked, already working out the answer her father would give.  
“From me,” he whispered.

“Oh, Dad!” Joan gasped and sank wearily to the floor by her father’s knees.  
“Sweetheart?”  
“Oh, Dad!” she sighed again as she buried her face in his lap.

Her father, greatly daring, reached out a shaky hand to stroke his daughter’s hair.

“I’m sorry, love. I just made everything worse. I should never have come to look for you. That’s what you said in your note but I thought I knew best. And beating up that bloke of yours made him turn on you. None of this would ever have happened to you if I hadn’t stuck my oar in where I wasn’t wanted.”

“No, Dad, that’s not true,” Joan disagreed. “That’s not how it happened.”

Wearily her mother and father looked at one another. There was not much more they could take.

“He hit me before you showed up.”  
“What?” growled her father.  
“It wasn’t anything to do with you. It was him. He had already started on at me, then it stopped after you turned up. You scared him, for a while at least. And then I found the courage to leave.”  
“I’ll kill him!” her father croaked, this time making this promise not in anger but in cold revenge.  
“No, Dad, no! I don’t want to ever hear his name again. Don’t you go near him, I couldn’t bear to have all this dragged up again.”  
“But Sweetheart…” her father began.  
“No, Fred. That’s enough. If that’s what she wants then do as she says” insisted her mother.

Her mother, devastated by Joan’s admissions, saw that they had all had to move on rather than look back.

“Joan, darling,” she said quietly, “you’ve been through a terrible time and we couldn’t do anything to help you through that. But we’re her now, at your side, and we want to help in any way we can. If you want us to?”

There was a tense moment while her father battled his impetuous need to wreak havoc on the bastard who’d hurt his daughter. And then, giving in, he turned back to Joan.  
“If that’s what you want…” he dropped his voice to a whisper.  
Joan nodded fervently.  
“That’s really why I had to speak to you. Especially you, Dad. You see, you were right.”

Fred’s bowed head shot up suspiciously.  
“About what?” he wanted to know.  
“I should have listened to you. I should have come home with you when you came to find me. You were right,” she repeated. “I was too proud to admit I’d done it all wrong.”

Joan laid her head on her father’s knee while her mother leaned across to their poor daughter.

He sat back, his hands still petting her hair. As if a great weight had been lifted from him, his heart soared in relief. He had been right to chase her down, right to try to bring her home. He’d failed, that’s true, but he had tried. And she didn’t resent him for it. She knew he had done it for her sake.

“Oh Sweetheart!” he burst out, and leaned forward to gather his daughter in his arms and pull her onto the sofa between them. The three of them huddled together to comfort one another.

Fred’s sore heart felt battered and bruised, but he was relieved. He’d heard the truth this time from his own daughter. And she had forgiven him for interfering in her life, for trying to do his best for her. It’s all he had wanted, to be able to hold his daughter close again, and now at last he had earned the right to do just that.


	5. Thursday Thanks Morse

Later that evening, Thursday walked his daughter home to her flat. Win had gone to bed early, worn out with the emotional confrontation they’d endured. Joan had told her parents just what had really happened since she’d left home and it had profoundly upset all of them. But now, she hoped, they could put all the secrets and lies behind them.

Thursday had shortened his strides to match hers, Joan’s arm linked tightly in his. He felt at this moment that he never wanted to let his little girl out of his sight again. But at the same time he knew she wasn’t his little girl anymore, she was a young woman with her whole life ahead of her.

“You know, I thought at one time that you and Morse would get together,” he mused, only half expecting his daughter to respond. Might as well get it all out in the open once and for all.

Joan patted his arm and smiled up at him.  
“So did I, but then I left and it just wasn’t to be. When I got back it had all changed. He stood by me, through all that, and I’ll never be able to thank him properly. But I don’t know if we can ever go back…we’ll see.”

“Well I won’t stand in your way, I think the world of that lad, you know I do. And your mother was all set on having Morse as a son in law too!”

Joan hesitated to ask what was on her mind.  
“Mum took it badly, did she, me leaving?”

Thursday’s step faltered. Could he keep this to himself or did she really need to know she was the cause of her mother’s breakdown?

“Your mother took it very badly,” he said gently, wanting to be truthful but not wanting to scare Joan. “She couldn’t cope. Couldn’t leave the house. Was taking pills for her nerves. But she pulled herself together once you started ringing home.”  
“Oh, Dad!” groaned Joan, coming to a halt. “She never said.”

She hung onto her father’s arm, and buried her face in his shoulder. She owed her mother some tears for hurting her like that but had none left to spill tonight.

“She just wanted to know you were alright,” he emphasised, wrapping his other arm protectively around her.  
“But I wasn’t, was I?” his daughter moaned into his sleeve.  
“You are now, aren’t you Sweetheart?” her father stated rather than asked. He needed her to know it for herself.

Slowly Joan leant back, thinking carefully.  
“Yes. Yes I am.”

Joan raised her face so that Thursday could see the truth of it. Thursday lifted his hand to stroke her cheek tenderly.  
“You’re strong, my girl,” he huffed, “just like your mother.”

She smiled tiredly and nodded. She had been determined to speak out to her parents and had managed it. She had risked losing their respect and support forever, but instead had won them round to understand why she’d done what she’d done.

Joan’s trust in her father was restored. Thursday’s love for her had been challenged but had not been broken. There was just one more person to thank for easing them through such a painful reconciliation.

After seeing Joan safely back to her flat, Thursday walked on to ring another doorbell.

“Sir!” exclaimed Morse when he saw his governor on his doorstep.  
“Well let me in, lad! I’m not here to give you any more grief.”

With a wry smile Morse graciously invited him in. Thursday gave Morse a heartfelt if gruff apology for hitting him the night before and genuine thanks now he understood what Morse had done to protect Joan.

“I don’t know where we’d be without you, Morse,” admitted Thursday.  
Morse shrugged modestly.   
“I just wanted to help Miss Thursday.”

“That’s why you weren’t at the investiture, isn’t it?” suggested Thursday.   
Morse had inexplicably missed being being presented with the George Medal at Buckingham Palace. It was the highest award for bravery a civilian could be given, but he had chosen to miss the highlight of his police career to be at Joan’s bedside instead.

Thursday reached over and patted the young man’s cheek carefully.  
“Quite a shiner you’ve got there. Sorry lad,” he murmured.  
“Worth it if it reined you in!” Morse quipped cheekily.  
“It did, lad. You did.”

They had another drink in companionable silence, each thinking about Joan.

“You took a lot on yourself, lad,” said his governor, seeking an explanation of sorts. “Why did you decide to tell me her story before she did?”  
“Well, she had no reason to confide in me. I already knew what she’d been through. Maybe Miss Thursday was giving me a chance to make things up with you? Why else would she come to me before talking to you?”

Thursday considered this and found the answer did not surprise him.  
“Because she’s a lot smarter than either of us realised,” he acknowledged with a huff of amusement.

Maybe Joan had intended Morse to speak up first to clear the way for her own conversation with her parents. Or maybe she was letting Morse know he would be able talk honestly to her father again once they both knew all her secrets. Either way Joan had brought Morse and her father back round to trusting one another again, in her own clever way.

Morse smiled and nodded.

He was relieved that Joan had decided to confront her parents and that they had had the strength to hear her out. And not only had he helped Joan, he had redeemed himself in the eyes of his governor. He had earned Thursday’s ever lasting trust and that alone he felt was sufficient payback for the black eye he now sported.

And maybe one day Morse would find the courage to speak to Joan, ring her up, ask her out for a drink, walk her home, do all the normal things that young lovers do, and become friends again. He could still hope for a happy ending, couldn’t he?

**Author's Note:**

> Endeavour never got the recognition he deserves for trying to protect Joan, so in my version he earns it.


End file.
